IN SEVERAL biting science-fiction stories, James Tiptree Jr (Alice Sheldon)
suggested that alien contact would be terribly personal and sexually charged.
Programmed by evolution with now-inappropriate compulsions, humanity would
fatally love the aliens, or long to become like them . . .
This process has continued for centuries in Gwyneth Jones鈥檚 Phoenix
Caf茅 (Gollancz, 拢16.99, ISBN 0 575 06068 9), her third novel
about the irreducibly messy problem of Earth鈥檚 鈥淎leutian鈥� visitors. Humans have
grown uneasily used to the louse-like commensals that surround Aleutians in a
soup of biological info-exchange. Conversely, Aleutians distrust our unliving
technology of electromagnetic 鈥渧oid-forces鈥�. Engineered human half-castes
imitate the noseless extraterrestrials; the lead character is an Aleutian in
female human form. All communication is treacherous, all gender stereotypes
unreliable.
Jones鈥檚 story is a devious dance of sex, rape, vengeance and virtual
realities, set in what seem to be the final days鈥攆or the Aleutians, having
more or less accidentally shattered our cultural self-confidence, propose to go
home. But the exhilaratingly daft void-force deus ex machina of the
previous books has a last surprise in store. Ingenious and enjoyable.
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Ian McDonald also presents alien immigrants, though slightly more scrutable
ones, in Sacrifice of Fools (Gollancz, 拢16.99, ISBN 0 575 06075
1). The 鈥淪hian鈥� Outsiders arrive in 2001 to barter technology for living space;
80 000 are settled in Ireland in hope of breaking that society鈥檚 old history of
the Troubles. Much sharp satire ensues; a suspiciously Paisleyesque figure rants
that 鈥淪heenies鈥� come from hell, while there鈥檚 a whole club culture of 鈥渇rooks鈥�
longing to become alien and/or have sex with the puzzled Outsiders.
Against this background, a Shian family is brutally murdered and mutilated.
Their stunned human colleague鈥攏aturally the prime
suspect鈥攊nvestigates. As a tour of this ingeniously fractured and
realigned Ireland, Sacrifice is brilliant. As a detective story it鈥檚
mildly disappointing. But it reads very well.
Jack Vance has known for a long time that for bizarre sociology and
anthropology you need no aliens. Human eccentricity is unlimited. Night
Lamp (Voyager, 拢9.99, ISBN 0 00 224653 8) has a typically slender
plot鈥攁mnesiac youth seeks lost parents鈥攆rom which weird cultures
hang like exotic baubles. There鈥檚 the status-obsessed world where all depends on
admission to fraternities with silly names (like the highly prestigious Clam
Muffins), a planet where the ultimate social triumph is spectacular suicide; a
creepy death cult; and a stagnant, decadent world that relies on crumbling
biotechnology to manufacture slave workers. Coolly ironic narration, high-flown
dialogue, landscapes in richly sombre colours, Vance, though now in his
eighties, is on good form.
N. Lee Wood鈥檚 first novel Looking for the Mahdi is shortlisted for
this year鈥檚 Clarke award. Faraday鈥檚 Orphans (Gollancz, 拢16.99,
ISBN 0 575 06392 0) is her second, set on an Earth slowly recovering from its
savage irradiation when a magnetic pole-shift stripped the ozone layer.
At first we鈥攍ike the flawed, unlucky helicopter-pilot
hero鈥攊dentify with the domed cities which retain technology and are
reclaiming North America. Outside are human aliens: chromosome-damaged freaks,
appalling feral children, and subsistence farmers who, if spotted, are
conscripted into City labour forces. Naturally our hero is dumped into the
wilderness: his agonies, mutilation and homeward struggle (with a talented,
environment-adapted and therefore psychopathic young girl) make for gripping
reading. Wood pulls no punches and offers no easy answers.
Last and fattest, Tad Williams鈥� Otherland: City of Golden
Shadow (Legend, 拢 16.99, ISBN 0 09 968301 6) opens a colossal
tetralogy about a 21st century where the rich are richer, the poor poorer, and
virtual realities far more sophisticated than the too-familiar noir
clich茅s of cyberpunk.
At the Net鈥檚 core, in an electronic gameworld that is impossibly detailed,
something bad is happening. Children鈥檚 souls are being devoured; there are hints
of a paradigm shift whereby simulation will override reality; conspirators speak
of becoming not merely alien data-patterns but gods. Williams, well-known for
high fantasy 鈥攁nd a nifty writer鈥� knowingly echoes scenes from
Tolkien as a few ragged companions journey to the unreal digital city of the
title鈥攚here the conflict is far more knotty and problematic than fantasy鈥檚
traditional simplifications.
Meanwhile, J. G. Ballard said it: the truly alien planet is Earth.